


Words

by fairytalehearts



Category: Fringe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-09
Updated: 2012-09-09
Packaged: 2017-11-13 21:16:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/507794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fairytalehearts/pseuds/fairytalehearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written Early Season Four. This new Olivia can't put her finger on it but there are words that remind her of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words

She doesn’t think forget is the right word.

There was something there, some feeling, long forgotten. She was starting to feel it for Lincoln. But that same something went to the back of her mind, still there, but not fully formed. Working cases with Peter is easy, she thinks. He knows how she thinks, he thinks differently. He knows how she takes her coffee and knows when to lead and when to follow. Being bossy was not one of her flaws, per se but she knew it happened occasionally and he eased in and out with grace.

She hands him a gun wordlessly, and he looks a little surprised before taking the safety off and following her into the warehouse.  Apparently giving Peter a gun was never an option in the alternate timeline, even though he’s more than proficient and accurate when it comes to firearms.

Clearing cases is much faster; Astrid can stay in the lab to assist Walter, focusing on the science, while they work the case. Peter knows what questions to ask and when to ask them. If he has a question he can ask Walter on the phone, and not that ‘dumbing down’ is the correct phrase, but he can do more of a ‘rewording’ for when she has a question.

Sometimes he stays behind in the lab, and as much fondness she has for Lincoln, she finds herself missing Peter. Lincoln thought like a cop, always ready to profile, ready to disarm. So was she. One case they were working late, and while Lincoln, overly-concerned, told her to go home, Peter just chuckled.

“Livia’s not leaving until this case goes somewhere. She’s stubborn like that.” He says ‘stubborn’ affectionately, a term of admiration, not ‘stubborn’ as in unwilling. He places a takeout container in front of her after she’s dozed off, her favorite sandwich from the deli down the street. No onions, extra tomatoes and pickles.

“Gino’s isn’t open until five.” She triple-checks her watch: 2:19 AM.

“Sure it’s not.” He winks at her, and she thinks he is ‘over-confident’ and a ‘smartass’ but she can’t make them sound like she’s not flirting with him in her head. It will bother her, it will fester and she’ll need to know.

“You need to tell me. I have been suffering at that Diner off Main for years.”

“You hate that Diner, the coffee tastes like metal and they don’t have Bleu Cheese dressing.” Peter forgets sometimes that they’re not in his timeline, but she’s beginning to think that having someone know her like that isn’t necessarily a bad thing. She does hate the diner.

He notices his misstep and immediately looks like he regrets it, “Gino sleeps there on nights he has inventory or delivery. We were staking out an apartment nearby and Gino was unlocking the back door. This was before we were dating, mind you, and you made me get out of the car in -5 degree weather to beg him to make you a sandwich.”

She falls for him. It was wrong, or misplaced, or something, but she falls for him.

They go on cases, he’s her protector. They go on stakeouts, he’s her confidant. On weekends, he’s her best friend. She almost feels bad for Lincoln but she’s already forgetting that they could have almost had something.

They get hammered one day, she’s not sure she has any excuse except for her birthday’s coming up and he’s been there a year. They drink scotch, the good stuff and she’s staring at him, bleary eyed as he just talks and talks. The machine isn’t working, The observers are being more obvious.

“I’m going to give up. Tomorrow. One Year, no progress, I’m stuck here.”

“If they still existed they would have fought for you. I would fight for you.”

It’s one of those moments where she’s talking about _her_ , but she feels she’s talking about herself. In the flesh. The two of them together. It happens more than she cares to admit. Frequently, Obsessively.

“We’re both so busy with work and cases and Walter, we almost have to. Not enough time, that’s one thing I would have changed, more time. I think we only went on a handful of dates, and I worshipped the ground she walked on. I was a fool.  I don’t know what to do with myself now.”

He’s gotten closer to her on the couch, her legs are practically in his lap and they’re both nursing bottles and one arm is used to keep one head up and she is drunk, plastered, hammered and she looks at Peter and gasps.

There’s a glow about him, an actual glimmer, and her brain is working too fast, and not hard enough at the same time. He kisses her, rather chastely for her liking, and she sees it. In Technicolor, microscopically, then all at once.

“Oh, Peter. How could I have forgotten, _this_?”

She kisses him again, the way she did on their third date and knows that everything will be alright.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Clearing out my fic folder...this may have been posted somewhere else before.


End file.
